


Unsaid

by ShanleenKinnJaskey



Series: Tell Me Again Why I Feel This Way [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1500s england, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending (possibly), Colonial America, F/M, Feels, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Immortal!England, Immortality, M/M, Mystery, Time Travel, USUK USUK USUK USUK IT'S SO BLOODY PERFECT, World War, time traveler!America
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanleenKinnJaskey/pseuds/ShanleenKinnJaskey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is an ordinary man cursed with immortality.<br/>Alfred is a time traveler who forgets everything except his childhood once he steps through a crack in time.</p><p>Time is not a linear progression, and new friends are made as these two meet up out of order...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue- I Used To Rule The World

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles come from the song "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has his first meeting with the man that will come to change his life...

_"Remember the day_

_'Cause this is what dreams should always be_

_I just want to stay_

_I just want to keep this dream in me_

_You're losing your memory now..."_

_-Ryan Star_ , Losing Your Memory

 

 **1500s** **England**

 

**Arthur**

 

Them first time I meet you it's only for a moment.

I'm walking to my job at the theater when you run into me and knock me down. I get up, cursing, when I notice your strange attire. A strange jacket made of fur and cowhide, embroidered with a number on the back? You must be a gypsy or a fellow actor of some sort.

I see your blonde hair with the one stubborn piece that won't smooth down. It frames sharp, finely sculpted features. But what really catches my eye are your brilliant eyes the color of a smooth sea, surrounded by a pair of thin wire rims holding two pieces of glass. I'm curious what the contraption is for.

"I'm sorry," You say, speaking in a strange accent, helping me up, "I didn't mean to keep such an obviously important man from his job." You wink, and then turn and disappear into the crowd.

I stare after you for a moment, bewildered. Who are you, mystery man, and why do I get the sense that you already know me?

After a moment I discard these thoughts and hurry on my way. I don't want to be late for Master Will.

 

**Alfred**

 

I know you, but I can't place you. Yet I grab onto the memory of your face and hold on tight. You're the only person I've ever recognized. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough I'll remember you next time.

That is, if there is a next time. I hope there will be.


	2. Seas Would Rise When I Gave The Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Seas' is a reference to Alfred's eyes.

" _I can feel the sweat dripping down my face_

_I can hear my heart as it starts to race_

_Yeah sometimes this world’s such a lonely place_

_If I just push on I know that_

_I wanna taste the sun_

_Cause baby I’m born to run_

_I got a feeling that I’m not the only one..."_

_-Victorious Cas_ t, Make It In America

 

**Colonial America**

**Arthur**

 

It is many years later, but I wear the same face. I am cursed with immortality, but I make the most of it. I help where I can, so I've come to help the colonists in the New World. I own a small farm in the newly christened area of Virginia.

It is here that I see you again.

I walk into the church and am surprised to see your head. Your strange eye-wear and your one stubborn section of hair stand out among the quiet, ordinary parishioners.

In a brash moment I walk up and sit next to you. "'Ello," I say, my native cockney accent popping up. I quickly squash it down. Now you are a mystery I must solve. I am immortal, but what are you to remain ageless, maybe even younger, after so long?

You look up, but I see no spark of remembrance, no light of recognition. "Hello, mister," you say, your brow crinkling in polite confusion.

Now I'm even more confused. How did you know me before, but not now? We barely met before, yet you knew my face then. Why not know, when my face is plain before you?

 

**Alfred**

 

I do not know you, but you seem to know me.

How is that, ordinary man? I don't think I've forgotten you, but I never know. I think that if I did, though, I'd feel some kind of recognition.

You seem ordinary, with your normal farmer's clothing and flat, fair hair, but you have two features that stand out- your large, prominent eyebrows, and your hard green eyes. They contain a wisdom of a much older man. You have seen many things, just as I have, but you can remember it all. I'm jealous of you, strange man- you have what I've always wanted.

"I'm sorry," I say, "But do I know you?"

"I've met you before," you say, "but just in passing. However, you recognized me then, though I'd never met you before." Your green eyes twinkle with a mix of curiosity and excitement.

Thoughts race through my head. Sure, normal time travel would explain this meeting out of order, but I never remember anything, let alone an entire person. Maybe I will remember you, though- you're like no man I've ever met.

"I'm sorry," I say with a smile, quickly faking an innocent tone, "But I don't remember that." As much as I want to know more about you, I can't tell you anything. It's only 1697- how would you react?

 

**Arthur**

 

I don't know why, but I trust you in a way I have never trusted anyone. You are different, just like me, in a way I cannot explain. Even though you are obviously hiding something and I've only met you once before, I feel like you have more in common with me than any person I've ever met.

"What denomination are you?" I find myself asking. _I'm_ _sorry_ , I want to tell you, _that was rude of me_ , but you get there first. 

"Christian," You say with a smile, as if it's an inside joke.

"Well, I am an Anglican," I say, and realize what that tells you. I did not leave Britain for religious reasons- nay, they were personal ones.

My secret? I was too young for far too long.

"Sounds great, bro," You say, and once again I ponder over your wording. What is a bro, exactly? Is it like a brother, as the monks called each other back in England? Or some strange term of endearment?

Then you turn to me, fixing me with those deep, blue eyes, and ask, "Do you want to go to the tavern tonight? My business here is nearly complete, and I want to hang out. What do ya say, buddy?"

Buddy? _Hang_ _out_? I sense you mean no harm, but your language is becoming not only a bit strange bit mildly frightening. Against my better judgement, I smile. My muscles creak, unused to making such shapes since the Incident happened. "Of course, my good man," I say, and reach out to shake your hand.

 

**Alfred**

 

I copy your movement, and shake your hand, giving a small nod. Sparks race through me at your touch, though I have no idea why. Your grip is firm, practiced like a noble's, but your hand is as weathered and callused as a farmer's, adding on to the mystery of you.

My secret, strange man? I have no 'business' here- I said that merely to spend more time with you.


	3. Now In The Morning I Sleep Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT DONE YET!

_"Which way is right, which way is wrong_

_How do I say that I need to move on_

_You know we're heading separate ways_

_And it feels like I am just too close to love you_

_There's nothing I can really say..."_

_-Alex Clare_ , Too Close

 

**Arthur**

 

We go to the local tavern and eat dinner. I introduce you as a trade partner to Francis, the annoyingly charming and flamboyant owner of the tavern, and lead you to a seat. You seem to catch my animosity towards him, but thankfully not the reason.

You see, mystery man, I have more than one secret. I  _am_ Anglican, but I harbor a deep, deadly sin- I do not look upon women romantically. No, I like men instead, and in this life Francis is the one I (idiotically) fell in love with. Well, I thought I had fallen in love, but it was all a lie. He flirted regularly with costumers, but I foolishly had thought I was different. He eventually tried to be with me, saying I was the only person he truly loved.

Thank goodness I didn't let it get too far, as I caught him cheating a few weeks after we first got together. With a  _woman_  at that. However, he's still intelligent, and we have debates regularly. He's the only one besides the priest who can speak another language, and it's still interesting learning the news from the French sailors through him (even if it's about France. As long as it's about Europe, I can forgive- well, mostly).

I see that in you- that innate curiosity, that intelligence, that spark of life that seems drained out of most colonists. But I also see something within you that I don't see within Francis- a longing, a yearning for something big that's missing from your life. There, deep within the depths of your soulful blue eyes, is a crack, a break. Like the painted glass in the cathedrals in Europe, your eyes cloud a deeper meaning, partially hiding the truth from anyone who dares try to look.

 

**Alfred**

 

I have a great evening with you, Arthur Kirkland, which you tell me is your name. Your name, Arthur, is an old one, carrying tales of adventures pressed between the letters, a multitude of lives that have carried such a noble name shouting through your warm voice and bright yet hard eyes.

I can't tear my gaze away from your eyes, Arthur. So much is within them- such loss and grief, such love and joy. Suddenly I'm hit by the realization that I don't want to hurt you. If I stay too long you'll get attached, and when I leave you'll be upset.

So I have to leave, though I want to learn the truth about you so much. I push back my chair, choking back the words I want to say. "I have to go," I manage to get out instead, and then abruptly turn and leave before  _I_ can get attached to  _you._

I rush out of the tavern, stumbling as soon as I get outside. Where will I go this time? _When_ will I go?

It doesn't matter, I decide, as long as I forget. _The heartbreak will only last a few moments,_ I remind myself.

I step forward and through a crack in time, pulled along by the swirling currents to wherever and whenever I end up.

I feel something speed up within my chest, and I realize something before my memories dissolve into the current around me.

I'm frightened.

Frightened of forgetting you.

Frightened of the mystery that awaits on the other side, the emptiness that will fill my mind and heart.

Frightened of the  **silence.**  

 

 _I'm sorry,_ I think, and I'm gone.

 

**Arthur**

 

I've put you off, haven't I? I've forced you away, just like I do everyone.

After a moment of stunned silence I stagger out the door after you, and find no one there. I gasp. I'm sure it's not the whiskey and I'm not imagining things, so what did you do? How did you disappear like that and leave no trace?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Painted glass is what they used to call stained glass.


	4. Sweep The Streets I Used To Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Score= twenty years
> 
> Toris is Lithuania.

_"They say pain is an illusion_

_This is just a bruise and_

_You are just confused but_

_I am only human_

_I could use a hand sometimes_

_I am only human..."_

_-Krewella,_ Human

 

**Constitutional Convention**

 

**Arthur**

 

There's been a Revolution, and a new government has been born. I dream of you every night, mystery man. I know something happened that night, though my memories are drenched in whiskey and rum. Nothing bad, mind you, rather something mysterious and exciting.

I dream of you most nights, with your bright grin, your strange jacket, and your broken blue eyes. I think that somehow, even after just two meetings, I'm falling for you.

(It's still not allowed, you know. It's still a sin to love someone if they are the same gender as you)

Today I'm sweeping the floors of the exact same tavern that Francis used to own. He passed along about a score ago, leaving behind the tavern to, of all people, me.

Who knew the frog had a heart after all?

I employ a couple of people. There's Dylan, an Irish immigrant who works as our chef, and Emma, a kind but independent young wench whose family is said to have come from Belgium.

Everything is normal- I'm thinking of you, Emma's serving food to a new couple from the Netherlands, and Dylan's cooking when suddenly there's a commotion outside. I initially ignore it, but then Toris runs in.

"Arthur!" He shouts, "There's someone out there who just appeared. He's been shot, and he's saying your name!"

 _Just appeared_? It must be you. Without another thought I drop my broom and run out the door. I'm greeted by the sight of you lying on the ground with a bloody bullet wound in your shoulder.

Your beautiful eyes meet mine, gasp out the word "Arthur", and then your head slumps to the ground, unconscious. 


End file.
